Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
PRIEST
I was already angry when I arrived at the entrance of the underground gambling club that had been “given” to the Corsicans. After I was kept waiting there for ten minutes by Jean-Baptiste’s men, I was fucking furious.
When I stepped from the dock and followed the path that led inside, I blinked several times to chase away the red mist. It wouldn’t do to reduce the fucking club to ashes… yet.
First I needed answers from Sébastien.
The moment I spotted him next to Bogdan, the Serbian mafia don, the red mist returned with a vengeance and my anger turned into rage.
He sat at one of the tables as he scanned the crowd, wearing a dark suit and a smirk on his face, and it was immediately clear. This club wasn’t Jean-Baptiste’s. It was Bogdan’s through and through.
I made my way deeper into the club to find the two facing off and I stilled, listening.
“…supposed to do? Giving him her name and location was stupid and reckless,” Sébastien snarled.
“Ivy DiLustro is well protected.” My anger ramped up and I had to take a step back or risk attacking them to the point of no return. And I needed to hear everything concerning my wife. “She’ll be fine.”
Sébastien punched the wall. “And if she’s not? Jean-Baptiste is a fucking animal, and if he so much as touches?—”
He spotted me and I swore that even under the poor lighting of the club, he paled.
“Fuck,” he cursed, running a hand through his hair. “Here we go.”
I was so fucking tempted to just plow through the guards I could see closing in on me in my periphery. I’d end them all and leave Sébastien and Bogdan for last. But that might delay me from reaching Ivy, which was not an option.
“I think it’s in your best interest to tell me why Jean-Baptiste, your fucked-up business associate, is stalking my wife,” I said with apathetic calm while my ears buzzed with rage.
Noting the icy look on my face, Bogdan raised his brows, stroking his chin.
“Would you like to sit down, DiLustro?” he invited in his deep baritone. “Maybe a drink?”
“This won’t take long,” I snapped, seething. “Start talking. Why is Jean-Baptiste anywhere near my wife?”
“You sure you don’t want a drink?”
“Tell me,” I roared. “Or I swear to God, I’m going to level this entire city only to ensure you are both dead.”
“Suit yourself.” Bogdan flagged a waitress over. “I’m getting a drink.”
Glaring daggers at him, I ignored the waitress who showed up, throwing heated glances my way. I hadn’t noticed another woman in the two years I’d known Ivy, and I wasn’t about to start now. Once she filled Bogdan’s glass, he dismissed her and she disappeared.
“Start talking or I’ll?—”
Bogdan’s face darkened, his eyes flashing as they pierced into mine.
“Pick us off, one by one?” He chuckled quietly. His lips curled savagely. “But then you won’t know what Jean-Baptiste is planning.”
“ Merde , I feel like we need dueling pistols.” Sébastien sighed, raking a hand over his head. “Maybe I should just kill Jean-Baptiste myself.”
I didn’t give two shits whether Sébastien lived or died. Yes, he was better at his job than his brother, but he let him get away with way too much, and now the fucker was sidling up to my wife?
He exhaled. “What I’m trying to say is that he leads with his dick. Though, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of that.” I scoffed, of course I’d remember the way he tried to hold a conversation with me while a woman bounced up and down on his dick. It was an image I prayed I’d forget.
“There are millions of women on this planet,” I gritted. If that fucker even dared to inhale Ivy’s scent, I would destroy him. Demolish him. Scatter his ashes in opposite corners of this planet so he’d never find peace. “My wife shouldn’t even be on his radar.”
“She got on his radar the moment you married her.” Sébastien chuckled bitterly. “He always wants what he can’t have. The fact you took Philly from him is an added bonus, and makes her that much more desirable.”
“I fucking let you back in,” I growled, walking toward him and jabbing a finger in his chest. It didn’t matter that I had guns pointed at me. Fear was a mild inconvenience when you were scared out of your mind for the love of your life. “You have the dock, don’t you?”
“I hoped it would be enough.” To his credit, he stood his ground. “So back the fuck off.”
I turned to Bogdan, who acted as if this was all some great performance, taking another sip of his whiskey and looking bored. But I saw past it; he was taking stock. Evaluating me.
“Jean-Baptiste means to use her as a pawn to fuck with you and get his territory back,” he said coldly, his voice venomous.
“And what do you want?” I growled back. “Some kind of pissing contest to see who’s better, faster, stronger?”
Bogdan chuckled, but it didn’t reach his dark eyes. “A ‘pissing contest’ is fucking a rival’s woman.” When I stiffened, Bogdan cocked his head, arching a cold brow. “What I want is docks in every major port on the East and West coasts of the United States.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“Don’t mistake me for a blind or stupid man.”
I released a long breath, choosing to ignore his insolence for now. Ivy was all that mattered to me.
“The DiLustro family only has access to New York and Philly.” I splayed my palms out wide. “You’re already in Philadelphia, in case you’re confused.”
My eyes locked with his. A second ticked by. Then another. “We’ll start with New York. Then you’ll reach out to your distant family member in Toronto.” My brow furrowed. Our connection to Alessio Russo, recently changed to Ashford, was barely known. “Yes, to Alessio. And from there, we’ll slowly make our way down the coastline.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” I snarled.
“Maybe.” He chuckled, the darkness in his soul filling his eyes with black. “But unless you agree to it, the bomb I have surrounding Kingston Ashford’s home will explode with your wife inside it.”
Harsh breaths burned my lungs.
I knew there was no life without Ivy. The moment we crossed paths, I began experiencing feelings that were so foreign I had to look them up. She’d healed parts of me that I thought were gone for good.
Yes, I desired her, but it was so much more than that. It was an obsession. It was love. It was an emotion so strong that it dug under my skin and buried itself into my DNA.
“It’s yours,” I finally said. He cocked his head as if debating whether to believe me. He must have never known love, otherwise he’d understand. The thought of Ivy perishing into ashes made my chest squeeze worse than anything else. “And Jean-Baptiste is mine,” I stated coldly, challenging either man to disagree.
They didn’t.
I was nearly at the exit when Bogdan’s voice stopped me.
“Priest?” Turning my head, I caught his eye. “If you ever step foot on my territory without an invitation again, I’ll cut your fucking head off.”
I left Bogdan and Sébastien in Philly twenty-four hours ago to board a jet bound for Lisbon. Right after I’d given the Serbian asshole access to another dock in Philadelphia and one in New York.
Speeding down the highway on my motorcycle, I was eager to make Jean-Baptiste history and head to the part of town where Ivy currently slept. Parking my bike at the end of the street where my intel showed Jean-Baptiste was hiding, I continued on foot. My steps were silent as I wound my way past charming villas. They were small but private, with tiny courtyards in between. The lights slowly started to flick on as I reached the last house on the street.
My phone flashed and I lowered my gaze to find Basilio’s name on the screen. I ignored his call, but no sooner had it stopped ringing than it started again.
Sighing, I answered it. “I should have checked in with you first.”
“Oh, you fucking think?” Basilio roared. “What good is the Syndicate if we’re just doing things on our own terms?” I scowled as I studied the blueprints of the home, memorizing each room. “Are you listening to me, Priest?”
“Yes, but I’m kind of in the middle of something,” I hurled back.
“Bogdan is a fucking enemy, dipshit!”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours and it was starting to take its toll.
“You know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“I want to barge into that fucking dock, guns blazing, and level him,” he bellowed so loud I was certain his voice carried over the ocean and not via the phone line.
“Bas, I really am busy?—”
“Oh, fuck off,” he snapped angrily. “And what are you busy doing? Drinking yourself to death and staring at security footage?”
For fuck’s sake, I just wanted to kill Jean-Baptiste and get Ivy back.
“I gotta go, jackass,” I said, then hung up sharply. He’d get over all this. Eventually.
Before he could call me again, I turned off my phone and tucked it away.
I checked my gun to ensure it was loaded, then started forward. Jean-Baptiste’s guard was waiting in a car with the engine on and window down. I stayed low, keeping out of sight of the rearview and side mirrors as I moved toward the open window, then in one swift move, I sliced his throat.
The guard tried to sit up, clutching at his ruined skin, but it was too late. He gurgled, the life slowly leaving his body. I stayed there, reciting his last rites with a whisper, until the light extinguished in his eyes.
The street was quiet as I crept toward the front door of the villa. There was a stone wall surrounding the front, which would provide decent cover for what was about to go down.
My heart beat in a steady rhythm as I reached for the knob, but it couldn’t be so easy. Locked . I dug for a tension tool in the pocket of my pants and worked it until I heard a soft click.
Lifting my pistol, I slowly pushed the door open, checking the area was clear. Then I crept into the house, my shoes soundless on the tile floor. It took less than two minutes to ensure every room on the ground floor was empty.
I paused at the landing of the second floor, the sound of grunting and cries reaching me. The bedroom door was ajar.
“Please, stop. Please, plea?—”
I peered inside the bedroom, my blood froze. A little boy, who couldn’t be older than nine, sat cornered in the room, his head buried in his hands as Jean-Baptiste approached him, unbuttoning his pants and dragging his zipper down.
Sick fucking prick .
Images of my own childhood flashed through my mind like a broken Polaroid.
Fire licked my skin and blood roared in my ears. And then came the rage.
I had no idea how the door splintered, flying off the hinges. At the sudden explosive sound, the boy looked up and scrambled to his feet, bursting past me through the door. Jean-Baptiste reached around his waistband for his gun, but I was quicker, pressing the barrel of mine against his temple.
“Move and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” The defeated look in his eyes was one I hoped I wouldn’t soon forget. “Now, Jean-Baptiste, would you like your last rites read?”
His skin flushed and his chest heaved with the force of his breaths. “You won’t kill me. It’ll start a war.”
“Move,” I hissed, shoving him toward the chair.
He fastened his pants and walked to the chair.
When he didn’t move, I shoved him down the rest of the way. “I said sit the fuck down.”
His eyes kept darting behind me, and I smirked. The fool was waiting for his guard to show up.
I pulled out a bunch of zip ties and began strapping him to the wooden chair with efficiency. First his ankles, then his wrists.
“You’ve been stalking my wife,” I said casually as I retrieved a switchblade from my pocket and flicked it open.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he roared.
I held the knife up to his cheek. “By the time this session is over, you will.”
He tried to edge away, but it was all in vain. I swiped the blade across his cheek and a stream of red ran down the side of his face. He screamed.
“And how many boys have you hurt? How many girls?”
He didn’t answer and I cut his other cheek, deeper this time. The coppery scent of blood perfumed the air.
“How many?” I gritted.
“None, I swear,” he cried like the fucking coward he was.
I pointed the tip of the switchblade at his crotch and he began to struggle against his binds.
“Don’t lie to me,” I warned.
“I swear, I didn’t—” I sliced the tops of each thigh, then I pressed the knife into his balls. He writhed in the chair, tears streaming down his face and turning pink from all the blood.
“Tell me,” I shouted in his face.
“I don’t know,” he cried. “I don’t keep a tally of filthy children.”
Putting my mouth near his ear, I said, “You’re the filthy one.” I lunged and rammed the knife into his groin. I worked the blade, the screams echoing off the walls filling me with a new sense of peace.
I jammed the blade deeper, then twisted it into his flesh. He howled and I yanked it out, only to shove it in again, slightly higher. He roared, shouting curses in French and every fucking language he knew while I repeated the movement, blood dripping all over my hand.
“Please… stop,” he whimpered. “P-please.”
“Did you stop when the boy begged you?” I asked. “Tell the truth or I’ll prolong your suffering. I tortured my adoptive mother for over a decade, so trust me when I tell you, it won’t be pretty.”
Terror entered his eyes at the prospect. “I… I didn’t… stop.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, take a good last look at your balls before I shove them into your mouth,” I said casually, ice settling in my chest.
By the time I was finished with him, blood stained my clothes and skin, and my body buzzed from the torture I dished on him. It was a high like nothing else. There was only one thing that was better and that was Ivy underneath me, on top of me, in front of me. Fucking anywhere.
As I made my way out on the peaceful street, the edge of my mouth curled.
“It’s time I take my wife back.”